A Walking Shadow
by Yymeatha
Summary: Post OotP. Slash SSHP. After the events of his fifth year, Harry tries to put the past behind him, but Snape seems intent on digging it up again. When illusions begin to shatter and hope fragments, how will they cope?
1. Chapter I

Title: A Walking Shadow

Author: Yymeatha

Pairing: Snape/Harry

Rating: NC-17

Feedback: Please! This is my first ever slash fic and my first serious and complete fic. baasheep87@aol.com

Disclaimer: Not mine, however much I wish that were untrue. I have also taken quotes from Shakespeare and Eugene Ionesco.

Notes: Many thanks go to my muses, namely Kat, KT, Hollie and Amy who provide many bizarre and wonderful conversations to draw upon. Extra thanks to Amy for beta-reading and commiserations to Kat whom I suspect wanted to beta-read but didn't get her lot in on time.

This fic is part of the ´Order of the Phoenix´ Harry/Severus Fuh-Q-Fest (). Challenges: Harry needs comforting after Sirius´ death, Harry sees a sexual fantasy about himself in Snape's pensieve, Occlumency practice creates a link between Snape and Harry, and they start experiencing each other's dreams.

Spoilers: Books 1 to 5.

Archive: After_Class archive and other random places after 30th September. If you want it, please ask me first so I can go and see the site. Many thanks.

_Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player who struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.-William Shakespeare_

**A Walking Shadow**

Harry Potter had long since decided that the July of 1996 was unnecessarily hot, needlessly Dursley-infested and unquestionably the strangest summer of his nearly-sixteen-year old life. Unfortunately, while he could at least do something about the heat –specifically wearing as little as possible and staying in the shade where Uncle Vernon couldn't see him- the presence of the Dursleys was a necessary evil. The Dursleys themselves had been behaving awfully strangely all summer and, although this was, at times, a welcome state of affairs, it was beginning to unnerve him just the slightest.

For one thing, they had left him mostly alone. Harry was not naive enough to believe that this was due entirely to the Order's threat at the end of the previous term; if anything, his Aunt Petunia's innate tendency to poke her considerable-sized nose in where it wasn't wanted, should have been fuelled by her eternal quest to know everything about others' lives. But there had been no neck-craning, no beady-eyed glances when she thought Harry wasn't looking, no spontaneous checks to "make sure you're doing what you should be doing!" Harry had decided that either he wasn't noticing anymore or Aunt Petunia had inexplicably gained experience in the art of not-being-seen. 

The alternative was, of course, that Aunt Petunia had simply stopped… but Harry had made an observation several years back, that when Aunt Petunia stopped spying on other people's lives, Hell would freeze over. And Privet Drive had showed no signs of becoming the sudden centre of an unscheduled snow-blizzard in the middle of July. 

If Aunt Petunia's strange behaviour wasn't enough to confuse him, the rest of his family's activities certainly were. Uncle Vernon, while definitely not being 'nice' to him by any stretch of the imagination, had noticeably made an effort to curb all insults thrown his way. When Harry had accidentally broken a piece of priceless Wedgewood as he dusted the living room last week, Uncle Vernon had made no nasty comments whatsoever. He _had_ turned several interesting shades of purple but Harry was feeling generous enough to chalk that up to the heat. 

If Harry hadn't known better, he would almost be tempted to believe that the Dursleys were trying their very best to be nice to him. But 'nice to Harry' and 'the Dursleys' had never mixed well in any sentence before and Harry held no beliefs that they would now.

Although the days were undoubtedly strange and confusing, Harry preferred them substantially to what awaited him when darkness fell and he had only his own dark thoughts for company.

In the silence and solitude brought on by the thick night Harry found himself thinking more than was probably healthy. Although he had been told time and again that he was not to be blamed for any of the events which had caused people to lose their lives, he couldn't see how he could _not_ be blamed. If he hadn't told Cedric to take the Cup, Cedric would still be alive. If he had listened to Sirius, Remus, Ron, Hermione…anyone, if he had just swallowed his damnable pride and returned to the Occlumency lessons, if he hadn't been so impulsive and downright _stupid_...Sirius would still be alive.

That one hurt the most. 

Despite Dumbledore's insistence that it was himself whom had caused Sirius' death, Harry couldn't see how anyone except himself could be blamed for the loss of the most important person in his life. He _wanted_ to blame Dumbledore, oh _god_ how he wanted to pin the blame on someone else (and a small part of him recognised that that was exactly what Dumbledore had tried to allow him to do) but the fact of the matter was that Sirius' death was utterly, inescapably _his_ fault. And no amount of begging, of crying and screaming and trashing Dumbledore's office, would ever bring him back.

Sirius had been the most important person in Harry's life for two years. It was the dim hope that Sirius would be cleared and that Harry would be able to live with him that had kept him going when people refused to believe him or else betrayed him behind his back. Sirius had been a link to his parents and, more importantly, someone who would care for him not just because he was James' son but because he was _his_ godson. 

And now Sirius had left him alone and his world had been torn apart. Nothing would ever be 'alright' again because there would be no one to go home to. Just as Harry's world had ceased as certainly as Sirius' life had, he felt that the world itself should have ended. The stars ought to have winked out, for where was their beauty without the brightest of them all? Time itself should have come to an end because what was time worth if it wasn't time spent with Sirius?

But each monotonous day came and went, the sun rising and falling and glowing with its disgustingly cheerful light. The stars continued to shine despite the fake amongst their midst that mocked him with its light. Time passed slowly and swiftly as another day came to another end and Harry felt as though it should be The End. People went on with their stupid, insignificant, boring, everyday lives and Harry just wanted to shout from the rooftops for them to _stop_! What was the _point_ anymore? Because Sirius was _dead_!

And when he had worked himself into a state of mingled anger and grief and guilt and helplessness, Morpheus clawed at his mind and he fell until he reached the depths of the abyss with no way out and could fall no more and the dreams of death and gore and torment prowled his unsuspecting mind.

*     *     *

Severus Snape had come to regret many things in his life and while a number of them could be attributed to some higher power that enjoyed mocking him, the majority had come as a consequence of his own poor decisions. Joining the Death Eaters, he reflected sourly as he stalked across the Hogwarts grounds to Hogsmeade, his left arm throbbing violently, had definitely been one of his more foolish choices. Reaching the Apparation borders on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, Severus took a brief moment to compose himself to his satisfaction before he Apparated to this week's unknown destination.

He arrived with a deafening _pop_ in a large spacious area, more of a cavern than a room, that boasted elaborately carved spiralling pillars which snaked up and up to the high-domed gothic ceiling above. His arrival startled several nearby junior Death Eaters to his vicious delight –not that he enjoyed terrorising children, of course -but he paid them little attention, instead striding across the room towards the large ornate doors, lost in his contemplation. Joining had seemed like a good idea at the time. And, as it turned out, Lucius _had_ been interested in him…just not in the way Severus would have liked. Reaching the doors, Severus halted and carefully drew out a white mask from within the depths of his robes. He allowed himself a brief moment to sneer in disgust at the lavish, absurdly intricate engravings on the otherwise flawless mask, before placing it over his face and entering the room beyond. The Dark Lord really was ridiculously fond of the ostentatious.

It seemed that everyone else had already arrived and that they were now waiting for him. That did not bode well. Already, icy tendrils of dread were creeping up his spine and Severus had to consciously override the instinct to shiver. He was here to die. He was certain of it. 

Before he could take his customary position in the circle, a shrill, sibilant voice interrupted his journey.

"Severus…" Lord Voldemort was seated at the far end of the room, enthroned in a large high-backed chair. His narrowed crimson eyes gleamed in the torchlight, watching the blank surface of Severus' mask. The face was long and gaunt, bleached skin stretched over frail bones which lent his visage the appearance of a horse's skull and Severus could not help but feel disappointed. _Such a pity…he used to be such a handsome man_. "Come…" Severus obeyed swiftly, moving across the dry stone floor and trying desperately to not let his mounting unease show in either his posture or his mind. Voldemort, after all, was an accomplished Legilimens. 

He stopped a few feet from Voldemort and sketched a low hasty bow, striving to school his thoughts in preparation for the inevitable interrogation. The brief, rebellious declaration that a Snape bowed to _no_ man was hastily swept away before it could even reach the surface. Upon his straightening, a low serpentine hiss that echoed ominously in the cold room broke the heavy silence. 

"Remove the mask."

Again, Severus obeyed the command and this time removed his ivory mask, doing so as slowly as he dared. If he was going to die, then he wanted to die knowing that he had, at the very least, incensed the bastard before he was slaughtered. Voldemort's crimson eyes narrowed but he made no comment, instead opting to observe Severus without the faceless mask concealing his features. Severus knew that Voldemort could discern nothing from his mien; he had spent many hours training himself to reveal nothing from his expressions. 

"Lucius…"

Severus started in surprise, though he was certain he had not let it show. He heard behind him the soft rustling sound of moving robes and then Lucius Malfoy was stood next to him, executing a low, insufferably sycophantic bow. "My Lord…" he murmured, sounding almost nervous. Severus smirked maliciously inwardly. Lucius never liked to be identified; there could be certain… side-effects if an accusation or deed was traced back to it originator. No, Lucius liked to remain in the shadows, just as Severus himself did. The silent and, above all, anonymous informant. 

The Dark Lord's sibilant tones were speaking again and Severus tuned back into him.

"-here has informed me of some rather…interesting news." A dramatic pause. Severus remained silent. "It appears that you both have an acquaintance with a certain _creature_. I am most curious as to how this came about."

Outwardly, Severus remained calm. Inwardly, his mind and stomach both reeled. _How could he have missed this?_

"_Yes_," Voldemort hissed excitedly. "I see this information was not incorrect. You shall be rewarded Lucius… return to the circle." A swirl of robes in his peripheral vision and Severus was left alone again. "Tell me Severus, how you came upon this acquaintance. For it answers to none but the Blacks and it seems very strange that it should come across _your_ face in the fire."

Voldemort sat back and waited. Severus gave the only explanation he could. "My Lord, my position as your spy would have been jeopardised had I not." Carefully, he made certain that he allowed his feelings of duty and servitude to rise to the surface. He _didn't _allow through the thought that they were feelings directed at Dumbledore, not at the being sat before him. That would not likely sit too well. Voldemort remained silent and Severus breathed a mental sigh of relief that he would at least be allowed the chance to try to explain. The Dark Lord must be in a good frame of mind tonight.

"I was in the room shortly after the Potter child attempted to contact Black through the fire," he began, letting his full true feeling of hatred for Black rise. It couldn't hurt to talk the truth for at least some part of his explanation. And he certainly hated how Black's death haunted him still, despite his absence at the time of it. Bothersome things that dreams were; he didn't need to see the same scene again every night as vividly as if he were there! "He informed me of Black's supposed capture, believing our loyalties to lie in the same hands. Although the child is undoubtedly one of the more obtuse of the little horrors I have had the displeasure of teaching, even the idiot Longbottom would have been suspicious had I not appeared to endeavour to contact the Order after Potter's tirade."

Severus finished, more than a little pleased at how calm his voice had sounded and definitely smugly satisfied at how flawless his explanation thus far was. And surely it would not have brought about any suspicions to deliberately insult both the Potter brat and Longbottom. They were as bad as each other…one as arrogant as the other was incompetent. 

"What you say is true, Severus. You, of course, had to say something or else the Order would become suspicious as to why you had originally contacted them… and nothing less than the truth would have convinced Dumbledore to act. I will give you that much." He paused, regarding Severus carefully for a moment before continuing, his voice now much lower and infinitely more dangerous. "And yet your actions caused my plan to fail. If you had not interfered, the Prophecy would be in my hands and the Potter child dead. What do you have to say, Severus?"

The question was loaded. Severus knew that his life depended on his answer but he would have to speak carefully. If Voldemort even suspected that he might not be telling the truth, he would be dead before he could blink. "My Lord, I realise that my actions have had unforeseen consequences and for that I am truly sorry." And he was in a way…only not for Voldemort. "However, I do not believe that events have turned out quite so terribly, considering." He hurried on before Voldemort could muster up any indignation at being contradicted. "Certainly, the continued existence of Potter's life is unfortunate but his death now rather than a month ago will be all the more devastating for the morale of the muggle-lovers. Now that the Ministry has accepted your return to power, Potter's death will be attributed to you and that will cause far more fear among the wizarding community than if he were to die of more seemingly natural causes." Certainly true.

Voldemort appeared interested but, of course, he picked the one hole in Severus' argument. "It will also cause much anger, Severus. And power thrives off anger. That would not be a welcome state of affairs."

Severus acknowledged this with a respectful bow of his head. "That is true, my Lord. I apologise. However, the case of the Prophecy is not so hopeless." Severus watched with something akin to wry amusement as the Dark Lord's face predictably brightened with interest. "Dumbledore was foolish enough to entrust me with the Prophecy in its entirety. It appears that the original was spoken to him." True again but also entirely misleading. 

Severus waited once more with baited breath, hardly daring to hope. His heart rate slowed to a dangerous level as his insides turned to liquid ice. He forced the truth of his words to the forefront of his mind, willing Voldemort to believe him.

"Interesting, Severus. I sense the truth of your words. Perhaps your fate is not so dire after all. And the prophecy…?"

Dutifully, Severus recited what he had been told. "_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives._"

Voldemort appeared to be deep in thought. "So one of us must kill the other…how simply beautiful!" He laughed, his cold voice echoing around the vast room and behind him, Severus could hear the others laughing along with him. Fools, all of them. The laughter ceased abruptly. "And this power that I know not?" he inquired.

"Dumbledore believes it to be love," he stated simply.

Again the Dark Lord pondered his words. "Yes," he mused amusedly. "It would explain his survival… but love is no power! It is a weakness! They are fools if they believe the muggle-born's love will save him!" He turned once more to Severus. "I had intended to kill you, Severus. Make no mistake. But it would be unseemly to murder the bearer of such good news…I believe I shall let you live this time."

Severus' heart began beating again at more than twice its usual speed as adrenaline abruptly rushed through his body. Resigned as he was to the inevitability of the loss of his life, he _had_ nearly lost it and, wretched thing that it was, he had become rather attached to it. Voldemort's final words caught him completely off guard.

"However, incompetence will not be tolerated, Severus…_Crucio_!" Voldemort spared a moment to bask in ill-concealed glee at the sudden loss of Severus' blank features which had crumpled under the pain. "Do not disappoint me again, Severus. You have my permission to leave."

Realising his dismissal, Severus made as composed a bow as possible under the circumstances. He managed to retain enough stability of mind to disapparate before he collapsed to the floor and to apparate to Snape Manor rather than to Hogsmeade. Appearing in Death Eater robe with mask in hand, middle of the night or no, would not be beneficial to his cover. Some sodding insomniac would be awake to see him.

Albus would worry about him but he couldn't care less. The interfering old coot deserved it.

Bed…what a lovely idea…

Hundreds of miles away, in a small four bedroom house situated in the middle of Surrey, Harry Potter woke with a start from his dreams, eyes wide and accusing, body trembling with the fresh imprint of artificial pain.

Neither slept well that night and both dreamt of prophecies and Death Eaters and Sirius…Black…falling…falling…falling…


	2. Chapter II

A/N: Thanks to all reviewers! I honestly didn't expect to get so many encouraging reviews!

For the most part, the rest of Harry's summer passed in much the same way as the beginning had. The Dursleys continued their midsummer madness but they seemed content to ignore him and Harry was delighted to be able to return the favour. The end of July, of course, marked his birthday and Harry received the customary sweets, books and Weasley jumper (usually reserved for Christmas. Mrs Weasley obviously felt that he needed to be wrapped up warm in the middle of July –perhaps there was hope yet for that snow-blizzard). New this year was the card and vast bag of sweets that arrived via screech owl (screech by name and screech by nature –Uncle Vernon's face had reached an alarming tomato colour at record speeds) in the dead of the night courtesy of the entire Order, although Harry noticed that Snape hadn't signed. He appreciated the sentiment but the last thing he needed right now was a whole load of overbearing, pitying adults. 

Three days prior to his birthday, the results of his OWLs had arrived on the leg of what appeared to be a very disgruntled and ruffled school owl. The envelope now lay unopened at the bottom of his trunk. Harry didn't need confirmation to know how badly he had done. 

August's only high point was the three-day row between Dudley and his parents. Eventually, their son's incessant screaming, crying and complaining wore down his Aunt and Uncle to the point where they conceded to buy yet another new Playstation to replace the one Dudley had kicked in a fit of fury.

As it was, August 31st  arrived far more quickly than Harry was accustomed to and he was shocked to realise as he lay staring up at his bedroom's ceiling with night falling around the house, that he had not thought of Sirius since he woke that morning. He was riddled with guilt. How could he let the anticipation of leaving the Dursleys,-beasts that they were -for another year overshadow the enormity of what he had lost? Yet, on another level he knew that he felt far less guilt than he should. Perhaps, if the pain of Sirius' death was beginning to diminish, the dreams would cease and he could sleep at night…. He felt guilty for not feeling guilty.

The journey on the Hogwarts Express was a nightmare. People insisted on peering through the compartment door to catch a glimpse of him, first-years listened wide-eyed to the tales older students told of his earlier exploits. Some of them were embroidered a little. Most were entirely fictitious. Worst of all, his best friends glanced at him warily throughout the entire trip, offering their condolences and casting him looks of sympathy and pity. He didn't need sympathy or pity! He needed to be alone!

It was to Harry's great relief that the students finally made it to the steps of the castle where he could blend into the crowd without people noticing him. For the first time in weeks, he was actually looking forward to something. He couldn't wait to be back at Hogwarts. The castle was the only place he really felt he belonged now. Thus, it was a great disappointment to be pulled aside by McGonagall before he could enter the Great Hall with his friends. McGonagall gave him a swift looking-over as if to assure herself he was still in one piece before she spoke.

"Mr Potter, the Headmaster has informed me that he would like you to see him after the Feast. You know where his office is?" At Harry's nod, a small smile crept onto her face. "Good," she declared. "The password is cockroach cluster." Her mouth twisted into a grimace at her evident dislike of the password and Harry had to work hard to conceal a smile. She cast him another look, seemingly assessing him. "Harry…I'm always willing to listen if you ever need to talk."

Harry looked up in surprise. He had been expecting that phrase from a large number of people pretending to be his friends –indeed, he had already heard it numerous times on the train –but McGonagall had said it as if she truly cared. And really what ulterior motive would his Head of House have? For the first time in what felt like an age, Harry gave a genuine smile. "Thank you, Professor. I'll remember that."

McGonagall nodded and Harry hurried into the Hall where the Sorting was due to begin soon. He left behind a profoundly sorrowful expression on his teacher's face as she recalled how his smile had rekindled the usual jade fire in his eyes…and wondering how she could have failed to notice that they had previously been devoid of that same fire.

The Sorting, together with the enchanted ceiling and the Headmaster's traditional speech had not failed to strike awe into the first-years' hearts. Harry noticed none of them, instead brooding on why Dumbledore would want to speak to him. He had explained everything last term and Harry did not much want to be reminded of what they had talked about. And he wasn't sure he could be trusted yet not to vandalise the Headmaster's office again.

He learned to ignore the 'surreptitious' stares of the entire school, and really, what had he been expecting?

Predictably, Hermione brought up the subject of OWLs only ten minutes into the feast, much to Harry's amusement and Ron's chagrin.

"'Mione! Leave us alone! We _know_ you got the highest number of OWLs in Merlin-knows-how-many-years-"

"Seventy-five-"

" –but that's no reason to rub in the fact that _we_ didn't get thirteen OWLs. Thirteen…I mean…that's even more than Percy!"

"-years," she continued smoothly. "And that was achieved by Edmontia Davies in 1921. She received thirteen as well and the only _other_ thirteen or higher score in the last two hundred years was Professor Dumbledore! He received all fifteen in 1861!" Hermione blinked suddenly and stopped lecturing, though her mouth was still poised to continue. Ron's voice in the background continued for another few seconds before he realised no-one was listening. Hermione turned to Harry.

He sighed inwardly. He should have been expecting this. To tell the truth, he had been. He had been expecting it to be almost the first thing out of Hermione's mouth when she saw him, but _dammit_!  He didn't want to know!

"Hey, Harry…you didn't owl us to tell what you got. Were you forbidden from sending out Hedwig?"

Hmm…actually that wasn't such a bad excuse…but...but he was _sick of being lied to_ and he had sworn that where he could, he would tell the truth.

"No…actually I don't know how I did."

Hermione looked scandalised whilst Ron's eyebrows disappeared into his hair. "Really! Didn't they reach you? I thought the owls looked too overworked but to actually delay-"

Harry had to cut her off. "No, Mione," he interrupted. "The owl arrived but I didn't open it. I don't need to know."

It was worth it, he reflected, just to see the expression on Hermione's face. He had never seen anyone look so shocked. "But Harry…I mean…don't you _want_ to know?"

Harry shook his head. "I know I did dismally. And really, it's not like anyone's going to care what I got…" He trailed off and suddenly his friends' eyes widened in understanding.

"Harry," Hermione began carefully, "_we_ care! And we want to congratulate you where you did well-" 

"And commiserate where you did awful-" 

"_Ron!_" 

"Well, no-one could have passed Divination! I mean, I failed _that_ one spectacularly!"

Harry had to smile at that. He was certain he'd failed Divination just as abysmally as Ron claimed he had.

"Really, Harry…have you still got the letter? Will you open it?" 

"We promise we won't laugh." 

Hermione shot Ron a nasty look and Harry had to stifle a snicker as they both turned to him, shooting him inquiring looks.   

"Alright!" he conceded, laughing. "It's in my trunk. I'll read it tonight!" Apparently satisfied, his friends then turned the 

conversation to more trivial, mundane things but Harry really wasn't concentrating. He knew the letter would just 

confirm how badly he had done, but even the confirmation was worth the warm feeling his friends' conversation had given him. 

_Someone cared…even if it wasn't Sirius. _

*     *     *

That warm feeling had long vanished by the time he was seated in front of Dumbledore's desk, a large box of sweets shoved under his nose.

"Sherbet lemon, Harry?"

Harry shook his head politely and remained silent, determined that, since Dumbledore had asked him to come up in the first place, he could start the conversation. Dumbledore popped a sweet into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully for a moment, regarding Harry from behind steepled fingers.

"Hmm…Harry. I suppose you want to know why I have asked you to see me?" Harry only nodded. "Firstly, I wanted to congratulate you on your OWL results. Quite something even if I do say so myself!" _What? What was Dumbledore on about? _"Secondly…how are you Harry?"

Harry looked up in surprise. How did Dumbledore _think_ he was? _Happy? Content?_ No. He settled for: "Better. At least…I don't think I'm going to throw things around this time." He attempted a smile and was relieved when it was returned. He _had _felt guilty about that but he just hadn't been calm enough to apologise. _Well, no time like the present. _"Sorry about that. Sir."

Dumbledore smiled benevolently. "That's quite alright, Harry. I daresay much of it needed replacing. I do seem to collect unusual artefacts." He paused and gave Harry one of those inscrutable looks. "And I am glad, in a way." Harry started and gave a Dumbledore a look that, quite plainly, said he thought his Headmaster was balmy. "Anger can be a most dangerous emotion and I am glad that you could let it out without causing yourself harm." He sighed. "Harry, what I want to say is that you needn't feel alone. Yes, no-one can know how you feel but they can be there for you when you need them. Mr Weasley and Miss Granger both wish to help you, as do I. And several of the Order, in fact. The Weasleys, most noticeably."

Harry choked down a sob. How did Dumbledore know? How did he know that the one thing that scared Harry more than anything was not facing the end, but facing it _alone?_ That warm feeling returned suddenly and Harry found himself smiling genuinely for the third time in as many hours. What was _wrong_ with him? Luckily he was saved from pondering that further because Dumbledore was talking again.

"I don't want you thinking for a second, Harry, that we will allow you to face this alone." He sighed again and Harry was suddenly struck by how old he must be. What had Hermione said? 1861? That made him one hundred and fifty years old! "I must confess, however, that assuring you was not my only motive for asking you up here. I would ask that you continue your Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape. I feel that learning to become an Occulumens could be an immensely useful skill to have in the future."

Actually, Harry had been sort of hoping that he could start again. At least Voldemort wouldn't be able to trick him the same way twice. But did it have to be with _Snape?_  Evidently, Dumbledore read something of his thoughts from his face because he chuckled indulgently. "I realise that you do not get on well together but I have spoken to Professor Snape and he has told me that he will be willing to teach you as long as you are willing to learn." Harry stared. Snape had _agreed?_ That didn't sound like something Snape would do…except…well, actually it did. _As long as you are willing to learn. _Who else could have managed to insult him when agreeing to teach him?

Harry made sure to look Dumbledore in the eyes. "I would be willing to learn, sir." If Snape _was_ actually willing to teach, which he found hard to believe.

Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you, Harry. I will admit that that lessens a great worry on my mind."

It was strange, Harry pondered as he rode the staircase down from Dumbledore's office, how certain people could just make him feel wanted when he wanted nothing more than to push them away. And all things considered, it wasn't an unpleasant feeling. It seemed he wasn't so alone as he had originally thought.

And of course, now he was unbelievably curious about his OWLs.

*     *     *

The envelope appeared innocent and unassuming but Harry knew from experience that appearances could be deceiving. He hadn't felt this nervous about a letter in a long time, not since he'd had to take a letter from school home to the Dursleys asking to explain how he'd managed to set free the frogs awaiting dissection in the biology lab. _God…_this was ridiculous. He'd faced Voldemort too many times to count, he'd killed a basilisk, he'd survived Snape…so _why_ was he so nervous over opening one envelope?

Beside him, Ron and Hermione gave him sympathetic glances. "I couldn't open it for twenty minutes," admitted Hermione. "I was just so worried that I'd done badly and at least if I didn't open it, I'd never have to know."

Ron gave her an incredulous look. "You thought you were going to do badly? Hermione, you must have been the _only_ person who thought you were going to do badly-"

They stopped arguing when they noticed that Harry had seized the opportunity while they weren't paying attention and was now reading his letter. They began to get worried when he said nothing for several minutes. Wordlessly, Harry finished reading and handed them the letter, his face betraying nothing. Ron took the letter and Hermione read it over his shoulder. Finally:

"Harry…"

"I-I-"

"Wow, Harry. Just…wow."

Harry had to agree with them. He'd had to read the letter through three times before he was convinced his eyes weren't playing up. And he almost still didn't believe it…except, well, it was written. Right there.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_Following are the results of your OWL (Ordinary Wizarding Level) examinations taken in the summer term of nineteen-hundred-and-ninety-six._

_Both practical and written examinations were marked using the standard marking scheme of awarding points out of twenty five and averaging the results to give the final grade, except in those subjects where only one examination was issued, where the results were not averaged._

_It should be noted that both the Astronomy Practical examination and the Potions Written examination were standardized because 1). The Astronomy Practical examination was interrupted by an unexpected and unavoidable disruption that caused most candidates to leave the examination only two-thirds finished and 2). The Potions Written examination was found to be particularly difficult, causing the grade boundaries to be lowered._

_Astronomy:_

_Practical-Poor_

_Written-Acceptable_

**_Overall averaged grade-Acceptable_**

_Care of Magical Creatures_

_Practical-Exceeds Expectations_

**_Overall grade-Exceeds Expectations_**

_Charms:_

_Practical-Exceeds Expectations_

_Written-Outstanding_

**_Overall averaged grade-Outstanding_**

_Defence Against the Dark Arts:_

_Practical-Outstanding_

_Written-Outstanding_

**_Overall averaged grade-Outstanding_**

_Divination:_

_Practical-Poor_

**_Overall grade-Poor_**

_Herbology:_

_Practical-Exceeds Expectations_

_Written-Exceeds Expectations_

**_Overall averaged grade-Exceeds Expectations_**

_History of Magic:_

_Written-Poor_

**_Overall grade-Poor_**

_Potions:_

_Practical-Exceeds Expectations_

_Written-Outstanding_

**_Overall averaged grade-Outstanding_**

_Transfigurations:_

_Practical-Outstanding_

_Written-Outstanding_

**_Overall averaged grade-Outstanding_**

_N.B Consistently excellent demonstrations and answers in both aspects of the Defence Against the Dark Arts examination, coupled with the proof of ability to conjure a fully corporal patronus, allows for an extra certificate in Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts to be awarded. Approved by Examiner E.B Tofty._

_Congratulations Mr Potter. You have achieved twelve full OWLs and one HOWL (Higher Ordinary Wizarding Level)._

_Please send an owl detailing which courses you wish to continue in your sixth year to Hogwarts Professor McGonagall before August 15th. It should be noted that you will only be able to continue in certain subjects if your overall averaged grade meets the requirement of the teacher involved in that subject._

_Madame Twoileaf_

_E.B.E (Examining Board of __Europe__)_

Harry couldn't believe it. He had actually done well! (Although how he had managed to get an Outstanding in Potions was beyond him. Maybe the Polyjuice question had carried a lot of weight in the Written…and without Snape barking at him every five minutes, he had actually managed to concentrate on the Practical).

Hermione was predictably gobsmacked. "Harry…a HOWL! That's virtually unheard of! It's almost considered to be a low-grade NEWT. Those results would be enough to apprentice you to an Auror today!"

Harry smiled. "I think I'd like to finish school first, 'Mione. But…look…I mean…there must be something wrong. I can't have got an O in Potions!"

Hermione frowned. "Well, the letter did say it had been too hard. And there was that whole question on Polyjuice Potion!"

Ron grinned. "Just imagine the look on Snape's face when you turn up to take NEWT potions!"

Harry grinned back at him. An almost bubbly, happy feeling had welled up inside him and he was content for now just to listen to his friends argue. He wasn't worried about the sending an owl to Professor McGonagall bit. She knew what he wanted to take, and besides, tomorrow was Sunday. He could tell her then.

It occurred to him as he was drifting off to sleep that night that Dumbledore must have known he hadn't opened his letter or he'd have inquired as to why Harry hadn't sent an owl back. He was forced to rethink his assumptions of Dumbledore. The man was old, but he wasn't senile.

And the look on Professor Snape's face was going to be priceless. Maybe he could get Colin to take a picture.


	3. Chapter III

As misfortune would have it, Potions turned out to be his very first class of the year. He soon discovered that it would be neither an enjoyable class nor an easy class. Snape seemed determined to humiliate Harry in every way possible, apparently reasoning that if he couldn't manage to get rid of Harry, he could at least make sure he wrung as much enjoyment from persecuting him as possible. The fact that Malfoy had managed to weasel his way through the examinations (or rather, Malfoy's father had managed to weasel his son's way into the class), only made it all the more infuriating for Harry whenever Snape insulted him because the blond boy smirked at him through each of Snape's tirades until Harry was burning with the desire to leap from his seat and strangle that smirk right off the idiot's face.

Fortunately for both Harry and Malfoy (at least in the respect that Harry wouldn't get a detention and Malfoy got to keep his sorry little life), Hermione was also taking the class. Her restraining hand and hissed comments in his ear were the only things that prevented Harry from hexing Malfoy to dust right then and there. 

There were, unsurprisingly, very few students (and none of them Hufflepuffs) who felt they could weather Snape's foul moods for another two years and as a result, every student taking sixth year Potions (a grand total of  nine) was placed into the same class. If anyone else noticed the extraordinary ratio of Slytherins in the class, they said nothing. For Harry, this simply confirmed his suspicions of after-hours tutelage for the Snape's own house. He cut that thought off before it got any further. He did _not_ want to think about what went on in Snape's dungeons after-hours.

The sheer astonishment on Malfoy's face when he had realized that Harry wasn't lost and was, in fact, taking the same class as him, was almost worth the humiliation inherent in Snape's vicious insults. Almost. Although… the expression on Snape's face had been just as good as Ron predicted and, for the first time in his life, Harry wished that Colin _had_ been following him. Such a shame that the man got himself under control so quickly. Harry would have liked to bask in that smug feeling for at least a little while longer before Snape opened his mouth and burst his bubble.

Snape viewed the class with a critical eye. "It seems as though the OWLs have once again succeeded in isolating those with a small modicum of talent for the incredibly complex and subtle art that is Potions. Some of you, no doubt, should not be here." Here his disdainful gaze settled fully on Harry. Harry sought very hard not to let his anger show and instead concentrated on clenching his fists only so hard that the nails didn't break the skin. He would _not_ let Snape get to him this year. There was no way he was going to allow that sodding, ugly, greasy, murdering, bastard son-

"It appears that fame can help one acquire anything, except of course it would seem, the kind of _dogged_ determination that will most certainly be needed."

_-of-a-bitch! Sod that!_ Snape was going to die, right now! The rest of the class looked on in something very akin to confusion (although of course the Slytherins would never admit to being confused) as Harry snarled in rage and made to leap from his seat. Thankfully, Hermione and a Ravenclaw on his right managed to hold him back before he performed an action that could well have had him in Azkaban for years to come. And wouldn't Snape have enjoyed that? Almost worth the broken nose Harry had been aiming to give him.

Snape smirked down at him. "Dear me, Mr Potter. I would ask that you control your desire for me. I have no wish to be molested by children." The Slytherins snickered as Harry glared and snarled something incomprehensible, allowing himself to be coaxed back into his seat, still quivering with fury. If possible, Snape's smirk turned doubly malicious. "Detention, Mr Potter… and I think perhaps fifty points from Gryffindor. You will see me after class ends to discuss the exact details of your detention."

Snape turned to survey the rest of the class which had, until now, been watching in part anger and part confusion. "I have no doubts that those of you unworthy of taking this class will be out of this classroom within the month. I will be setting each of you an examination in a month's time and, should you fail to pass, you will no longer be permitted to step inside this classroom."

The rest of the class passed by in a furious haze for Harry as he saw red every time Snape thoroughly humiliated him or whenever Malfoy sent a devious smirk his way. He managed to fumble his way through the potion they were making today, though not without a large amount of whispered help from Hermione. At least, he thought he had managed to do alright. Nothing had started bubbling ominously or begun to melt the cauldron as Neville's concoctions had before they exploded all over the classroom ceiling. But when Snape passed by his cauldron, the tirade he delivered showed he was not so inclined. Harry mollified himself with the knowledge that his potion hadn't looked too different from Hermione's…a little less vivid in colour… and certainly a tad more viscous, but other than that they were identical.

The end of the class couldn't come too quickly and he packed his things hurriedly, reasoning that he could get away from Snape quicker if his things were packed and ready to go as soon as they had finished talking. Harry approached Snape's desk with a large amount of trepidation. He halted and waited as patiently as he could manage while Snape finished noting something down in a small red book. When he had finished, he looked up and sent Harry a scathing glance. "Yes…your detention." His voice was low and dangerous and Harry found he couldn't quite muster the courage to look the man in the eye. Not that he was afraid of Snape. He simply deemed it wasn't prudent to anger the man overly much. He squashed down his mind's succinct reminder that trying to break the man's nose wasn't exactly prudent either. "You will be serving your detention with me. Come down to my office tonight at ten o'clock." 

Harry could do nothing but stare. That was it? No sarcastic comments on his intelligence, no basking in Harry's humiliation and anger? And why on Earth was _Snape_ taking his detention? He _always_ gave the nasty jobs to Filch. Snape looked up when Harry didn't immediately flee at his dismissal. "What are-oh you _idiot_ child. You will not be serving detention, though the gods know you ought to be. I will be endeavouring to save your pitiful life once again by trying to teach your useless brain to bar the Dark Lord's intrusions. The Headmaster feels it would not be wise for the Boy-who-lived to be seen spending an unnecessary amount of time with an ex-Death Eater and I would have to agree with him. As such, you will come down to my office on certain days, under the guise of a detention, and I will attempt to teach you." He narrowed his eyes, his tones low and dangerous. "Make no mistake, Potter. I will not allow you to be so disrespectful in class again. I have no desire to be teaching you more than necessary but the Headmaster insists. Now leave!"

Harry moved at once and grabbed his back from the table, fleeing out the door. Well, how was he supposed to have known Snape would be teaching him Occlumency instead of giving him detention? Why did the man have to be so damn impossible?

Hermione was waiting for him outside the room and made suitably sympathetic noises when Harry informed her of his detention but Harry could tell he didn't have her full attention. Sure enough:

"A test in a month! And we don't even know what it's going to be on! Harry, this is awful! I'm going to have to study extra hard." Harry decided not to inform her that she would probably pass without doing any work whatsoever. If it meant she would leave him alone… "I'm going straight up to the library after lunch to work. I just hope I'll be able to get enough revision in. Are you going to come?"

Harry opened his mouth to ask her if she were crazy. Him in the library? Working on Potions voluntarily? But… actually, it didn't seem like such a bad idea. He _did_ want to pass the course… and besides, there was no way he was going to give Snape a valid reason to insult him. 

"Yeah, sure 'Mione. I'll meet you there." He ignored her incredulous look.

*     *     *

Of course, by the time lunch had rolled around (after a gruelling two hour Transfigurations lesson, learning to perfect the 'Guinea sequence transformation'- pig to coin to fowl), Harry had come to regret his hasty decision. He was already exhausted from his classes and only half the way through the day! 

Ron wasn't helpful either. He rambled on and on all lunchtime about how Hagrid had managed to acquire four infant demiguises for Care of Magical Creatures and then proceeded to lose them because they instantly turned invisible upon seeing so many people. According to Ron, there had followed a long period of running around hopelessly until some bright spark had the idea of conjuring a floor of wet sand so they could follow the Demiguises' footprints. Unfortunately, whoever had cast the spell had gone a touch overboard and Hagrid's pumpkin patch now resembled a small beach. All in all, it sounded infinitely more fun than Potions, leaving Harry wishing sorely that he had opted for Hagrid's class instead of Snape's.

Although… Harry was near-certain that demiguises were illegal to import without a licence and he would be willing to bet his Firebolt that Hagrid had smuggled them in under his mole-skin coat. It was the sort of thing Hagrid would do… much like secretly raising a baby dragon or a giant spider.

As it was, Harry was already feeling tired and more than a little frustrated with himself and the world in general by the time he and Hermione reached the library. He was in no mood to study Potions, or anything else for that matter and his earlier target to prove himself in Snape's class now seemed both ridiculous and unattainable. Unfortunately, he was with Hermione and she was not wont to allow time spent in the library to be spent doing anything less than constructive. So Harry was sat down and presented with no fewer than eight books that Hermione deemed essential to being able to pass the test Snape said he would give them, despite the fact that she had no idea what would be on the test. Harry said nothing; as far as he was concerned, her guess was as good as his and he might as well follow her study plan. After all, it had never led her wrong in the past.

For the next hour and a half, he immersed himself as best he could in _A Brief History of Medical Potions Throughout the Ages. _Typically, with a title like that, the book was massive: more than two feet across and at least a foot wide. And it was one of the smaller books Hermione had picked out. By the time he had progressed from 4000 to 2000 BC, he was feeling distinctly queasy and was relieved to note that it was time for his Charms lesson.

He tried not to remember his upcoming 'detention' and hoped fervently that Snape didn't know how to brew a Mummifying Potion. He didn't much fancy having his brains sucked out through his nose and kept as one of the floating formaldehyde specimens decorating Snape's office.

*     *     *

Ten o'clock came all too soon for Harry's liking and he soon found himself trudging down to the dungeons, dawdling as much as humanly possible but not so much so that he would actually be late. He had no desire to upset Snape even more, especially when he was in enemy territory. Harry snorted at himself and discovered quite disconcertingly that, while his brain hadn't been paying attention, he had made his way to Snape's door and was now standing outside it looking like an idiot.

He raised his fist to knock but the door slid open on well-oiled hinges, as though expecting his presence… if not actively welcoming it. Harry could not resist the quip that everything about Snape was well-oiled before he shook himself and tried to order his thoughts. 

Snape was already inside, his back turned to the door and apparently bending over some form of potion that was giving off green smoke and an odour that smelt like rotten eggs. Harry had the fleeting, absurd idea that he was brewing a Mummifying Potion, then dismissed the idea. After all, Snape couldn't read minds…okay, so he could. But really, what were the odds?

Snape mumbled something under his breath as Harry entered and waved a hand vaguely in his direction. "Sit down Mr Potter. I will be with you shortly. Do try to refrain from breaking anything." He returned to measuring a fine green powder that Harry thought might have been powdered Graphorn horn into the smallest cauldron Harry had ever seen.

Harry cast around for a seat and settled for the small stool in the corner. There was what appeared to be a bench against the wall but the eerily glowing jar-creatures above it and the stuffed augerey head perched nearby deterred him somewhat.

His attention was brought back forcibly to the man in question in the form of a small explosion that ruptured the miniature cauldron and sprayed Snape's face and the front of his robes with a murky green solution that still seemed to be giving off the faint smell of rotten eggs. Snape swore, passionately and imaginatively, using several words Harry had never heard before. He grudgingly had to award the man credit, faced with the truth that, yes, apparently Snape was human after all…though the thought of Snape being passionate about anything was disturbing enough to send the man into minus numbers.

Snape sent him a fierce glare, as if daring him to comment, although whether on his failure or his language, Harry didn't know. "Stay seated Mr Potter and do not touch _anything. _I will be back shortly." And with that, he swept from the room through a small side door Harry had never noticed before, still somehow retaining his dignity even with green gunk dripping from his robes and hair. A whispered word, and his potions experiment was following him through the door, leaving the office bare with the exception of Harry, several dead…_somethings_ and the pervading smell of eggs.

When Snape returned minutes later, he was clean and had changed his robes, although apparently his greasy hair was not something that could be so easily rectified. He brought with him a scowl and several large books, stalking over to the work place he had just vacated and dropping the books with a resounding _clunk_. Snarling, he beckoned Harry over and conjured a thin chair next to the table.

"Your reading," he answered, upon Harry's bewildered look. "As if that were not plainly obvious. Seeing as how an entire term of practical work last year yielded nothing, you shall start from the beginning and learn the theory. You are to read those until I deem you able to move on."

Without another word, he whirled around and disappeared through the door again, only to return less than a minute later with all manner of vials and equipment floating behind him. He began setting up the equipment, muttering to himself all the while. Harry couldn't catch more than the odd word or two but what he did manage to hear thoroughly confused him. "Jobberknoll", "counter-clockwise with silver-"…what on Earth was Snape brewing? 

Harry sighed quietly and pushed his glasses up his nose, dutifully reaching for the first book. They all seemed to be about forms of mind control and, as Harry knew nothing about the subject and Snape had given him no instruction, he chose at random. The muttering was incredibly distracting but Harry did his best to ignore it. He didn't want to run the risk of losing his head if he opened his mouth to complain.

Several hours later, the time measured only in the turnings of pages and the soft hisses of a bubbling potion, Snape dismissed Harry after it became clear that he was having trouble focusing on the page. Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly and, after a receiving a curt order to return at the same time two nights later, was allowed to leave.

It had not been as bad as he had feared, when all was said and done. Certainly, Snape hadn't exactly been welcoming, but at least they had traded no insults. If this was the way it was going to continue, Harry thought maybe he would actually manage to survive through Snape intact enough to face Voldemort.

All in all, things could have gone a lot worse.


End file.
